Acceptance
by ForeheadGoggles
Summary: They can't forgive, forget, or heal. They can only accept.


A/N: Short fanfic is short. That is all.

Disclaimer: Just borrowing.

Warnings: Shonen-ai, violent references, slight blood, angst, and use of human names. I also switched verb tenses at one point. I think it's okay to do it like I did, but just wanted to give a heads-up.

Summary: He can't forgive, forget, or heal. He can only accept.

* * *

Lithuania was free.

This was his first time staying with Poland for longer than a few hours since his recent independence. Toris should have been ecstatic. Finally, the opportunity to sleep like they used to, fingers intertwined, legs tangled, noses pressed to collarbones.

Lithuania cringed slightly at Poland's closeness and pressed to the wall, never touching the green wallpaper nor the sleepy blonde curled next to him. Rolling to face Poland, Toris flinched away as the smaller Nation tried to throw a friendly arm around his neck.

"Liet? What's wrong?" Feliks asked quietly, not disguising the hurt in his voice.

"N-nothing, Poland. I just… I really missed you." Feliks' resulting smile lit up the room, and he wrapped Lithuania in a tight hug, not noticing the brunette going completely rigid in his grip, barely concealing a whimper.

"I missed you too!" the Pole exclaimed, burying his face in Toris' shirt. "Missed everything," he continued in a mumble, inhaling the other man's hay-and-paper scent peacefully, frowning as Lithuania backed up still farther towards the wall.

"Seriously, Liet. What is it?"

"Really, I'm fi-"

"You're totally not," Poland interrupted. "You _never_ lie on your right side."

"Oh, that?" Lithuania asked, feigning confusion to buy time. "I just," he blushed slightly, "I just wanted to look at you."

"You're like, so sweet," Poland murmured, arms looping around the other's waist in a semi-romantic gesture. Toris gasped sharply, face twisting in pain as Feliks's slender hands brushed along his spine, jerking away at Lithuania's violent twitch.

"Omigawd, Liet, are you hurt?" Feliks cried, not waiting for a reply before tugging Lithuania's shirt up to see whatever wound was hurting his best friend.

"No! I'm okay," he pleaded, squirming away from the gentle fingers.

His protests went unheeded as Poland ran his hand along Toris' lower back in search of injury. A manicured nail pressed unintentionally into a scabbing gouge and Lithuania yelped in unexpected pain, hands unconsciously twining around the fabric of Poland's nightshirt.

"You _are_ hurt," Feliks accused, attempting to roll Toris onto his stomach, despite the brunette doing everything in his power to keep his back to the wall. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"It's nothing," Lithuania lied desperately, eyes widening in terror as Poland swung a leg over his hips, forcing him to roll over through sheer force.

"No! Please, no, no, no…" he begged, suffocating under too many memories.

"Liet?" Poland ventured cautiously, halting his investigation and sitting carefully on the backs of his friend's legs. "You know I'm not going to hurt you, right?"

"I- I know," he choked. "I can't h-help it… Ever since… And every time, every single time I'm so _scared._ I don't want you to see, _please_." Lithuania is crying in earnest now, sobs wracking his still too-thin frame, tears streaking his face.

Feliks' heart twists in sympathy, and he slides away from the brunette, snuggling into the warm, safe space above Toris' pounding heart. "Shhh," he hums into the man's ear. "You're okay. I've got you. No one can hurt you, you're fine, I love you, love you, love you, you're fine..."

Lithuania draws an exhausted, shaking breath. "Love you too," he returns, voice quavering.

The two sat wrapped together in silence for several moments until Toris' shaking slows to trembling and Poland whispers, "I'm totally serious, Liet. I won't _stop_ loving you just because there's something weird with your back… My God, you could have like, wings or something and it'd be okay. You're my Lietuva, so of _course_ I love everything about you, and it's totally fine if you don't show me. But I know that its bothering you, so please, let me help."

Lithuania shakes his head vehemently. "Nyet," he mumbles, and they both wince at the slip. "It's… It's _disgusting_," he continues, and Feliks isn't sure if he's talking about the language or his back. "You've… suffered enough. More than me. I don't want to hurt you more."

Poland shrugs slightly. "I don't think that helping my best friend is going to hurt me," he replied gently, reaching for Lithuania's shirt again. "Will you be okay with this?" Feliks rolls away from Toris, lying back down so the brunette is facing away from him.

Lithuania is shuddering once more, but nods reluctantly as Poland pulls the heavy nightshirt away from his back, one hand flying to his mouth to stifle a gasp. Despite his efforts to silence his horror, Toris flinches away at the noise, fresh tears sliding down his nose.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, belatedly attempting to hide the worst of the marks. "You shouldn't have seen this… It's horrible."

Poland struggles to deny the claim for several moments but eventually falls silent. Most Nation's scars fade to a point of being almost beautiful, spider webs of history and honor. But Lithuania's…

They're _repulsive_. Even the smallest wound is the width of his little finger and just as deep, twisted around each other like serpents. Layer upon layer, crosses of scars divided by half-formed faucet knobs in a macabre painting of disfigured muscle and warped scar tissue. The few patches of unscarred flesh are still black with bruises, and Poland can still see flakes of rust in the scabbing cuts.

He wants to pick Lithuania up and take him somewhere safe, wants to hold him and tell him that everything's fine and that he doesn't care that the sight of the other man's back wants to make him throw up, that he loves him anyways and nothing will ever change that.

"Christ… Have you cleaned these?" is all Feliks can manage.

"I tried," Toris admits, tears of pain and humiliation filling his eyes. "H-hurts too much…"

Sympathetic silence.

"I… Wait here, okay?" Poland doesn't wait for the brunette to respond, just touches his hand lightly and slips away.

The man's sudden absence hits Lithuania like a punch in the stomach. He can hear light footfalls across the hallway and counts twelve steps. Feliks isn't abandoning him, just going to the bathroom, he realizes.

Half of him expects to hear Poland throwing up, God knows that'd been his own reaction when he'd first looked in the mirror, but instead he catches the sound of the tap turning. The blonde Nation must being taking a bath.

Lithuania can't blame him, that was the second thing he'd tried. All the same, he'd hoped… But of course not. Even Estonia; with his medical detachment, had washed his hands until they cracked and bled. He couldn't expect Poland, beautiful and fragile as he was, to be unaffected.

Even if he'd promised not to be.

Toris burrows deeper into the blankets, trying to smother the regret burning into his stomach. Pressing his face into the damp pillow, he recoils in surprise at the sudden reappearance of Poland by the bedside.

The smaller Nation holds out his hand with a warm smile, gently drawing a confused but unresisting Lithuania from the safety of the duvets.

Toris stumbles along behind him, relaxing slightly into the warmth of their clasped hands. It's one touch he doesn't automatically equate with… _Him_. Distracted, Lithuania trips over his own feet and Feliks staggers forward as well, dragging the other man the last few steps into the bathroom, bumping heavily into the counter.

"I… I didn't want your… cuts to get infected," Poland explains to the floor, pointing sheepishly at the near-full tub.

Lithuania is equally hesitant, toeing off his socks but makes no other move towards the water. Feliks blushes fiercely, suddenly bashful, and scurries out of the room with a squeaked apology, leaving the other man to wash alone.

Toris glances reluctantly at the bath, wincing at the last memory of trying to scrub the rust from his spine. His neighbors had called the police to investigate the screaming.

Still, Poland is right. He can't leave himself so weakened that even America's gentle pats on the shoulder make him reel with vertigo. He sheds his pajamas and, gnawing his lip with determination, eases himself into the pleasantly warm water. Lithuania shuts his eyes tightly when the water laps against his lower back, but feels only a slight stinging. Perhaps he's healing faster than he thought?

Hopeful, he fumbles with a washcloth, reaching around to clean his shoulders. The sudden dramatic movement stretches the shredded muscles and Toris clutches the side of the tub, a half-strangled cry escaping before he can stop it.

He prays that Feliks didn't hear, but of course, the blonde flings open the door in a panic, "Omigawd, Liet," echoing strangely about the room.

"'I'm alright," he grates out, forcing his breathing to steady.

Poland only shakes his head and eases the washcloth out of his clenched fingers, clucking in gentle disapproval.

"You're so not flexible, Liet. You can't even reach your back when you're like, healthy," Feliks jokes, trying not to focus on the ridges of scars by producing a ribbon from his pocket and pulling Lithuania's slightly tangled hair into a loose bun.

Encouraged by the brunette's tiny smile, Poland begins running his washcloth down the back of Toris' neck and shoulders, cleaning only the farthest edges of the cuts. Lithuania sighs contentedly at the gentle warmth, fingers slowly loosening from the edge of the tub.

"Your neck is really pretty," Feliks hums, chuckling at Lithuania's pink ears and wringing out the washcloth over the scabs. Toris flinches and hisses minutely, but the smaller man only repeats the process, one hand running through dark locks to stop his friend from fidgeting.

"Seriously, Liet," he continues, attempting to distract the man from the pain of the washcloth rubbing the scabs raw. "Why didn't you ever tell me your neck was, like, totally fabulous? I would have given you some really cute hair clips!"

"I c-can't see the back m-my neck," Lithuania explains, voice shaking with suppressed whimpers.

"Lame," Poland mutters into his hair, pressing a light kiss to his forehead in apology.

Toris half-twists in surprise, gasping as Feliks turns his attention towards the middle of his back where the scars are deepest. His attempts to squirm away from the blonde are prevented by a one armed hug that pulls him closer to the smaller man.

"'S alright, Liet," Poland shushes, not halting his methodical cleaning.

Lithuania shakes his head, drawing his knees to his chest. "Could you stop? J-just for a second, _please_?" His voice is cracking in desperation, and he tries to push Poland's arm away, wet hands struggling for leverage.

Feliks only clutches him tighter and reaches for the soap, lathering the washcloth and continuing to scrub along the other man's spine. Toris yelps at the sudden pain of soap against the open wounds, hands fastening around Poland's now-damp sleeve.

Poland cringes at the sound, wanting more than anything to stop, just _stop_, agree that Lithuania will survive untreated, retreat to the safety of the warm bedroom and sleep forever. Toris' snarl of pain jolts him out of his robotic cleaning and Poland stares with newfound horror at the mess he's made. He can't tell if he's done any good, Lithuania is shaking harder than when they started, blood trailing into the tepid water.

"L-Liet?" Feliks stammers, lost for words.

Toris groans shakily and sinks further into the water. "I… I'm okay now," he responds slowly, as if unsure of it himself. Glancing back hesitantly, he gives the blonde a trembling smile.

Poland's eyes are filled with tears of guilt, and he drops the washcloth abruptly, burying his face in the back of Lithuania's neck. Startled by the sudden change in contact, Toris freezes momentarily, but turns around carefully to press his nose against the other man's chin.

"I… I think it's, like, mostly better," Poland hums awkwardly, searching one handedly for the fallen washcloth. He rinses away the soap coating Toris' back, glancing over the sluggishly bleeding wounds with mild satisfaction.

Lithuania sighs with gratitude, nodding his agreement. Previous shyness suddenly resurfacing, Feliks turns away long enough for Lithuania to step free of the tub and knot a towel around his waist, the taller Nation moving back into his line of sight and shivering in the chilly night air.

Both countries shuffle for a moment, confused and undecided about what to do next. Finally, Lithuania breaks the silence.

"Thank you," he says in a voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry if… If I worried you."

Poland grins brightly, accepting the apology with a wave of his hand. "No big, Liet." He pauses for a moment to pull the drain of the tub before turning back to his friend. "Do you want to just, like, sleep, or can I finish up?"

Lithuania pales with dread, but nods hesitantly. "I'm okay if you want to…" he trails off uncertainly, but Poland understands.

"Yeah, it'll only take, like, two seconds, seriously," he responds, motioning for Lithuania to sit on the empty wastepaper basket he just upended. Sitting down carefully, Toris leans the side of his head against the countertop while Poland whirls busily about the room, finally settling a pile of bandages, cotton balls and disinfectant next to the sink.

Feliks hums idly to himself, a sleepy tune that has Lithuania's eyes drifting closed within a minute, and the Polish man smiles, glad the Toris feels safe enough to sleep virtually unprotected. Encouraged by the sudden turn of events, Poland begins to dab carefully at the angry red marks with the cotton swab, the sudden chill of the disinfectant jolting Lithuania out of his brief rest with a startled gasp.

"Sorry, Liet," Poland mumbles, continuing to clean. "Have a nice nap?"

Lithuania smiles despite the cold. "Not quite a nap…"

"Just, like, resting your eyes then?" In response, Toris' head lolls forward in a half-nod, causing the blonde to erupt into giggles. "Have you even slept?"

Rolling his head back to glance at Poland, Lithuania mumbles a sleepy "No… Why?"

"No reason, Liet. Just… Just chill there, 'kay? We can sleep for a week when I'm done with this, but… I don't want to have to put you through it twice…" Feliks rambles, finishing with the disinfectant and unrolling the bandages. "Arms up, please."

Lithuania complies slowly, shoulders stiff with tension, but can't stop a soft chuckle as Poland's fingers ghost across his stomach, bandages in hand. "You're so ticklish," Feliks says, biting his tongue with concentration as he wraps the fabric around the other man's torso. Toris' hands begin to tremble with the effort of remaining aloft for so long and Poland wraps faster in apology.

Tugging the final knot into completion, Poland trims the extra material and surveys his work, a bit clumsy and rushed but complete. Sliding his hands gently around the brunette's waist, Feliks leans towards the man's ear. "You can put your arms down now, Liet." Sighing with relief, Lithuania lets his arms settle around Poland's embrace. The two Nations hold entirely still for several moments, neither willing to leave the other's warmth.

Finally, Poland breaks the silence with a cautious "Liet? My knees are getting totally stiff…"

Toris giggles a bit, but nods and wriggles to his feet carefully, wrapping his fingers around Poland's in thanks. Leaning in until he can smell the smaller country's shampoo, Lithuania plants a brief kiss on his cheek, smiling at the surprised blush.

"Thank you Polska."

Poland's grin widens, but he nudges Toris playfully. "You, like, seriously need sleep…" he chuckles, and Lithuania nods in agreement, pulling on his pajamas while Poland straightens the first aid kit. They finish their respective tasks, hands finding each other's unconsciously, and shuffle back to the bedroom, yawning and peaceful.

Feliks settles onto the bed with a sigh, pulling Lithuania down and wrapping his arms around Toris' waist. With a jaw-cracking yawn, the taller man flops back, eliciting a squeak from Poland, suddenly on his back with a Lithuanian nose pressed against the side of his neck. When the chilly nose doesn't move for several minutes, Poland feels compelled to whisper "Liet? You asleep?"

The only reply is a groggy mumble, and Feliks continues "Because it'd be totally awkward to sleep sideways like this…"

"'S warm 'ere," he says thickly, but squirms in a vaguely diagonal pattern towards the pillows and turned-down blankets, Poland inching along beside him. Both countries allow themselves a moment apart as they burrow under the covers, nestling back together like it's second nature.

Lithuania curls his arms protectively around Poland, resting his chin atop the silky blonde hair in front of him. Feliks sighs contentedly, one arm up to draping across Lithuania's shoulders, other hand drawn to his chest.

"Liet?"

"Mmmm?"

"I'm, like, not moving ever, so don't even think about…"

Poland's comment is halted by a pair of chapped lips pressing against his own, careful and gentle.

"I'm not either."

* * *

Dear Lord. My longest oneshot to date. Short fanfic is NOT short. Anyways. It wasn't until I was a few pages in that I realized "Oh dears, Poland DID know about Liet's scars…"

Ah well. Consider it an AU. Or something.

Hope you all enjoyed this little escapade, particularly my wonderful and awesome Prussia. This one's for you.

Until next time!


End file.
